"You ok there?"

I looked up. A young girl was smiling across at me.

"I was looking for a grave," I said stupidly. Why else would I be there?

"Only, I can't find it."

"What name?" she asked.

"Agnes Merryweather," I replied, scanning the headstones.

"A fresh grave?"

The words made me shudder. I hated cemeteries.

"Erm, yes. Last month. Is there a place for new graves then?" I enquired.

"Aha, it's on the far left. Follow that wall over there," she said pointing to a cobbled wall running along the cemetery path.

"Thanks," I said and started to pass her.

"No flowers?" she whispered.

"Er, no. I didn't really know her." I faltered, feeling guilty.

"She left me something in her will," I sighed, "it was nice of her. I'm just paying my respects."

"You should get sweet peas. They're really pretty, she'd like them."

"Sorry, do you work here?" I frowned.

"Like you, I am just looking out a grave. I'm Cherry. Cherry Smith."
She offered a cool hand.


On returning, she'd gone.
I moved onto the grass verge as a cortege approached, fresh flowers in hand. Bowing respectfully I breathed in the heady scent as the cars passed by.
Suddenly, my head felt light and my chest tightened. Slowly I dropped onto the damp grass.
Ahead, the car moved forward. In the back, C H E R R Y in large red letters was placed behind the brightest pink posy of pretty sweet peas.